


Beast

by Anonymous



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Violence, there's a love story under all of this somewhere
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-15
Updated: 2018-05-05
Packaged: 2019-04-23 11:33:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14331582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Geno is angry.  Sidney does his best.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I found this fandom a couple of weeks back but couldn't find enough angry Malkin for my tastes and then this accidentally fell out. Blame this video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6EHcSdZdcLU (unfffff)
> 
> Forgive the complete lack of hockey knowledge.

Sidney was angry.The cold, burning fury of a bad loss, a _preventable_ loss, lodged in his chest.He stripped angrily, showered angrily, withstood the media’s barrage of questions a little less obviously angry.Then went to stomp out to his car.Angrily.

He bumped into Flower on his way out. 

“Malkin,” Flower said, sounding too tired and cranky himself.He was lingering on the threshold, his wife and kids waiting on the tarmac outside.He raised his eyebrows in a question.

Sidney wanted home, food and bed.But he knew what it meant when Geno was _Malkin_ to the team.And this was his responsibility as captain.

He sighed heavily.“Don’t leave Vero waiting,” he said.“I’ve got him.”

Flower gripped his shoulder with thanks, relief clear on his face.Sidney watched after him as he joined his family, feeling a little bitter even if he couldn’t begrudge the goalie’s escape.The _C_ weighed heavily on nights like this.

The shower room was still thick with steam when Sidney opened the door to the changing rooms, the sound of water running.He stopped to slough off his coat and bag at his stall, took a moment to push down his own black thoughts, then walked through.

Geno was stood under the spray, facing the wall, his skin flushed pink from the hot water.His back was a tense line of muscle, his shoulders stiff, his hands fisted either side of him.He didn’t move when Sidney entered, didn’t acknowledge him.

Sidney watched him silently, angry at himself again, angry that Flower had needed to point this out to him.He should have realised, he knew.Tonight hadn’t been a cup game or a rival match gone wrong, but the Blackhawks had played ugly and he should have _known_ from the thick anger crawling up his own throat when the final whistle went, from Geno’s three point game, playing vicious and pissed off and unstoppable—

“Planning on drowning yourself?” he asked, carefully.

Geno didn’t react immediately and Sidney wondered if the man even knew he was there.Then Geno reached out and shut off the water.He didn’t turn around.

“Not good time for talk,” he said, low and hard. 

Sidney rolled his eyes, frustration uncurling within him.The media got their panties in a wad whenever Geno got truly angry on the ice, and he could understand that, the thrill of watching the raw power of Geno’s fury, the difference it made to the scoreboard when he played unleashed.But when the media wasn’t around, in the aftermath of a loss, it was the team - _Sidney_ \- who was left to pick up the sharp and jagged pieces of Geno’s fury.

“You played well tonight.Really damn well.”

Geno shook his head slowly.Water dripped from his hair.“Not good time for talk.Not for Sidney Crosby.”

And that was new, so maybe Sidney should have realised something was different tonight, something was off.But he was tired as all hell and desperately wanted to be home already.He didn’t see the warning signs.

“I mean it, Geno.If I’d played like you tonight we’d be out celebrating already so stop giving yourself such a hard time.It’s not just you out there eh?”

Geno did turn around then.He stood there, wholly unaffected by his nudity, his eyes dark and flinty as he stared at Sidney.

“Leave,” he said.“Now.”

“You know I can’t go when you’re like this.”Sidney sighed, long-suffering, thinking of home and bed.“Come on - get dressed and we can get food together if you want and—“

Geno rushed him and Sidney was too surprised to react, wide-eyed and staring as he got his hands up just in time, Geno barrelling into him, shoving him backwards as Sidney grabbed onto his bare shoulder, his bicep, too wet and slippery for purchase as he tried to wrestle him off.Geno wasn’t having any of it and he shoved Sidney forcefully back into the tiles with a growl, following up into his personal space, his forearm hard against his throat, one solid thigh pressed tight between Sidney’s own, pinning him.

Geno was breathing hard and heavy, much too close, his breath hot and moist against Sidney’s cheek, his whole body trembling with the strength of his anger.Sidney’s mouth was bone dry, adrenaline shocking through his body as his fingers gripped into the meat of Geno’s muscle.Geno looked like he was going to hit him and maybe not stop and Sidney didn’t know the contingency plan for his Alternate losing his mind and pounding his face in. 

He stayed very still, forced himself to remain calm, not to react.Geno didn’t move, just remained pressed tightly against him, feeling like a force of nature, barely contained.

“What are you doing?” Sidney said, his voice quiet and steadier than he thought it would be.“Come on, G.What are you doing?”

Geno didn’t move and Sidney wondered how long they could stay like that, how long he could wait on the edge of Geno’s violence until one of them tipped the wrong way.

“Sid talk not good,” Geno said, finally.“Not good for Sid when too angry.You understand?”

Sidney didn’t know if Geno meant it as a warning or a threat but the man shoved back from Sidney, away.Sidney rested his head back against the wall for a moment, feeling unsteady, like the ground had been taken out from under him, but no longer caged by 195 lbs of angry Russian, at least.

Geno snagged a fresh towel from an alcove and wrapped it about his waist, not looking at Sidney.

“Go,” he said.“I still angry and not - not feel control.Tomorrow I text.Things better.”

Sidney was not the idiot that would say no to Geno right now.So he left, feeling wrong-footed and uncertain.Finally in his car and driving back home, the unease didn’t leave him, settling deep into his bones.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If there are any horrifying hockey-related mistakes, please do feel free to give me a nudge. I'm making up / cobbling together the timeframe this is set in (in case that wasn't obvious!).

Geno did text him the next day, affable and apologetic and a little joking, more smiley faces than words, back to his usual self.And things were okay, Sidney thought.Things were fine.

The Penguins played well over the next few weeks.More than well.The media began to talk about winning streaks and the fans were getting hyped up and crazy over it.Geno’s line was a force to be reckoned with, while Sidney’s own efforts clinched him a Second Star.The team went out for celebratory drinks and Geno was laughing and happy as normal, over-affectionate with too much booze in him, draping himself over Sidney later in the night while Sidney was talking hockey with Kessel and just beaming into the side of his head for a while, mumbling softly in Russian.

Things were great, Sidney thought.

Then they lost against the Flyers at home and Geno punched him in the face.

 

 

Sidney spent the half hour after warming down smiling through his teeth at the media.He hated press duty on nights like these: every question an effort, his answers clumsy with fatigue as he struggled to separate his own disappointing performance from the team’s in his head. 

“It always feels worse to lose when it’s the Flyers.Of course it does.” 

“You guys called it a winning streak, remember.I don’t think the expectation helps on the ice.Every team’s going to lose at some point, no matter how good their play.”

“Yeah, Geno had a great night.The guys on his line worked hard backing him up too.”

Truthfully, Geno had taken a stupid penalty, het up and cursing from the box in vicious-sounding Russian.It had annoyed Sidney then, watching from the bench, and he could still feel it itching beneath his skin now.But the Penguins had been down 7-2 towards the end of the final period, the game already lost, and Geno had scored both goals that night.No one would be calling him out on it.

Sidney made his excuses as soon as he could and escaped to the safety of the locker rooms.Beneath the sandalwood and spice of aftershave, sweat and exhaustion lingered, disappointment acrid in the air.He wasn’t surprised to find most of the team already showered and dressed, others already gone.The ease of retreat was the only upside to losing in Pittsburg. 

Walking over to his stall, Sidney sat down to strip off his cold, damp gear, nodding towards a few of the guys as they headed out.The small amount of conversation around him was muted, tired, and Sidney didn’t choose to add to it, tired too, his thoughts grim.Geno wasn’t in the room, his stall already cleared out, and Sidney hoped that was a good sign.He was in no mood to go round two with Geno after the Blackhawks mess, but he didn’t like to think of Geno ducking out early, alone and wound up, maybe too angry to be safe on the roads. 

It was a luxury to have the showers to himself.Sidney took his time under the hot water, the pressure set to max, head bowed and eyes shut, losing himself a little in the feeling.It was only after Tanger put his head in to say goodbye that Sydney finally lathered up.Washed his hair.Rinsed off.

It was late by the time he dried off, the locker room deserted when he made his way back through.Sidney sat on the bench in his towel and dug out his cell from his jacket pocket.Illuminated the screen to find several texts and a missed call from his agent. 

The messages were mainly just variations of _sucks to lose to the Flyers_.He acknowledged Taylor’s; ignored the rest.Risking the crappy signal, he called Pat back and learnt there was a new endorsement possibly on the table.Pat wanted to arrange a meeting in Pittsburg to run through the small print with Sidney.They spoke for about ten minutes; got a date in the diary.Then Pat discovered Sidney was still in the locker room after the game and told him to hang up and _go the fuck home, Sid, christ._

Sidney wasn’t arguing.He had just finished lacing his shoes, slung on his jacket, when the door banged open and Geno stalked in, still dressed in his sweaty undershirt from the game, a cap lodged firmly on his head, pulled down low over his eyes. 

He drew up sharply when he saw Sidney sitting there.

“I thought you’d left,” Sidney said, after a long moment, when Geno offered him nothing but tense, brooding silence.  He had no idea where Geno had been.  Why his stuff wasn't in his cubby.

Geno squared his shoulders, shifting his weight from foot to foot.Said nothing at all.

Sidney frowned.He couldn’t see Geno’s eyes, shadowed by the peak of his cap, but the line of his mouth was disconcertingly grim.He had a sudden sense-memory of Geno pressed tightly against him in the shower room, furious and out of control, pinning him, his arm choking off Sidney’s breath.

“You okay, G?” Sidney asked, slowly, carefully.Because he wasn’t an idiot and Geno had played more brutally tonight than he ever had against the Blackhawks.  Was strung tight as a wire, fists clenched, already on the balls of his feet. 

And yes, it had been the fucking Flyers this time around, but Sidney was still expecting some kind of warning shot.  Geno telling him to back off, that he didn’t want to talk, that Sidney's presence wasn't helping.  Like Geno had given him last time.

But Geno just came at him, fists raised.

 

 

Afterwards, back at home, Sidney placed a packet of frozen peas to his aching jaw and wondered what he had missed.Because Geno got angry on the ice, brooded afterwards, like the violence of the game hadn’t quite left his head.But he had never taken it out on the team before - Sidney would have heard about it if he had.

He had hightailed it out of there because he had been damn close to socking Geno right back.Sidney didn’t want to think about how management might respond to their two franchise players beating each other into a bloody pulp, landing their own dumb asses on the injury list.  Sidney would be damned if that conversation was ever necessary.  It wouldn't happen; not on his watch.

He should be angry at Geno for hitting him, he knew.Furious even, because it risked messing with the team’s play and no one crossed that line, least of all Geno.Mainly, though, Sidney just felt exhausted. 

Exhausted - and really fucking worried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there is actually plot in my head that isn't just Geno getting angry and handsy with Sid. No need to worry, though - it is merely a shameless vehicle for Geno getting angry and handsy with Sid. :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I find it a difficult balance on tags. I'm erring on the side of caution here as I don't like to give too much away while things are incomplete, but will probably do a general spring clean when this story is finished.

_Sorry_ , Geno messaged him the next morning.There were no smiley faces.

Sidney stared at the text for too long.

 _Talk after practice_ , he responded, finally, and finished up breakfast, went to get ready.His jaw wasn’t the technicolour sunrise of a black eye, but it was swollen still, beginning to mottle purple.Obvious, even beneath three days of stubble. 

Sidney avoided the mirror when he brushed his teeth, the sight of his own face putting him in a foul mood.

 

 

There were eyebrows raised at the rink - of course there were.Hockey players were better than most at recognising the hits that would stick the next day.And Sidney hadn’t dropped gloves the night before, hadn’t had a stick in his face, hadn’t chewed on a puck.

“I fell in the shower,” he said when asked, his shrug feeling overly casual.He didn’t look over to where Geno was changing in the corner, his back to the room, shoulders hunched.Didn’t meet Flower’s eyes, either.Just started tugging on his skates, keeping his head down, accepting the mild chirps from the surrounding room as his due. 

Practice went okay.The team played solidly if a little tired, the coaches not pushing them, always leery of injury the day after a game.More than once, Sidney turned to find Geno looking at him, expression grim, gaze lingering over the bruise he’d left on Sidney’s jaw.It left Sidney feeling twitchy, distracted, even when drills restarted and he was in the thick of it, working hard for the puck.

He wasn’t the only one to notice Geno looking, either.Horny stopped Sidney when time was called, surveyed his face critically, then skated off without saying a word.Went over to join Kessel and Sidney watched him nod grimly as Phil said something, their heads bent close together, speaking quietly. 

Sidney caught up with them just outside the locker rooms.Pulled them to one side and waited for the rest of the guys to pass.For the corridor to empty. 

Looking between them with his best captain’s face on, he said, levelly, “If you’ve got something to say then this is as good a time as any.” 

Kessel shifted his weight from one foot to the other, expression caught somewhere between awkwardness and concern. 

“Did Geno—” he began, and stopped, staring at Sidney for a long moment before just shaking his head, swearing quietly under his breath.“ _Sonuvabitch_.”

“This can’t go any further,” Sidney said, firmly.“I mean that, both of you.I’m fixing it.”

“Is it your issue to fix?” Horny asked, quietly.He was studying Sidney’s jaw again, looking distinctly unimpressed.

“Team issues are always my responsibility,” Sidney said, frowning at the question, because of course they were, Horny _knew_ that.“And this stays between me and Geno for now.”

Horny snorted, rolled his eyes, but didn’t argue the point further.Phil just shrugged and nodded, looking more worried than Sidney was comfortable with. 

Sidney let them go, done with the conversation.He trusted they would listen to him whether or not they agreed.

 

 

The day was cold and cloudless, the sky pale blue overhead.Sidney found Geno leant up against the hood of his car in the arena’s empty parking lot.  Bundled up against the weather in a dark coat, his hands thrust deep into the pockets, frowning miserably to himself as he waited.

He straightened when he saw Sidney approaching.Met his gaze hesitantly, his forehead creased with worry. 

Sidney stopped in front of him, a safe three feet away.

“I’m sorry,”Geno said, looking smaller than Sidney could ever remember seeing before, hunched into himself, expression pained.“I understand if not forgive.I not know why I’m lose control like that - hurt Sid like idiot.”

Geno didn’t look anything like he had the night before, Sidney thought — _lips drawn back in a snarl as he wrenched Sidney to the floor of the locker room, his eyes dark and terrible, holding Sidney bodily against the ground, the muscles cording in his arms, breath hot on his face_ —

Sidney shook his head, not really wanting to remember. 

“I’m sorry,” Geno said again, sounding upset, like he could read Sidney’s thoughts.“When is like that, when head still angry, still in game—”He blew out frustration, looking a little lost.“Like I’m crazy - not know what I do.I’m never meaning to hurt Sid.I’m - I’m not hurting team before now.”

Sidney believed him.

“I’m not angry at you,” he said, and the words tasted like truth on his tongue - more than he thought they would.“But you know this can’t go on.You have to help me out here, G - tell me what we need to do.  How we stop it.”

Geno shrugged and spread his hands helplessly. 

“Don’t know how to stop it as not understanding why it starts.Coming off ice, after Flyers game, I feel it - know is bad.So take stuff from stall and wait for everyone to go.Think if not see team then maybe no problem.”

Geno looked sad, deflated, and Sidney couldn’t help think that maybe this was all his fault after all.If only he had just hurried his ass up last night - had showered quicker, hadn’t spoken to Pat.Then they wouldn’t be here now: Sidney with a swollen jaw and Geno deeply unhappy, looking like he’d been kicked.

“You didn’t know I was still there,” Sidney said, not liking Geno taking it all upon himself.“It was a good idea otherwise.”

Geno met his eyes. 

“We try next time, maybe?”he said. 

Sidney didn't know how to respond, uncertain, but Geno was already nodding decisively, beginning to brighten.“Plan work with Sid’s help.I know this.”

Sidney wished he could share Geno’s unabashed confidence.  There was a good part of him that felt they should take this straight to management, allow them to throw expensive professionals at the whole fucking mess.  But this was Geno - and Sidney would keep it within the team for as long as Geno asked him to.For as long as he could.

“We’ll give it a try,” he agreed.

 

 

Sidney’s jaw was green and purple when the Penguins played the Caps away the next day.

Ovechkin kept staring at him, smirking.

“What?” Sidney finally snarled, the game tied in the last remaining moments of the second period, frustration uncurling within him, sweat stinging in his eyes.

Ovechkin just nodded lazily towards his jaw.

“Russia hits hard, da?” he said.“Good for Crosby to remember this I think.”

The whistle blew time, the period over, and Sidney could only stare blankly after the Capitals captain as he skated off the ice, his words playing on repeat in Sidney’s head. 

Four hours later, still thinking about what Ovechkin had said, Sidney decided it had to be a language barrier thing - Ovechkin not choosing the right English words.  Or maybe Sidney mishearing him over the din of the arena.

It was pure coincidence that Geno was the only Russian playing on the Penguins side right now, Sidney told himself, firmly.It meant nothing. 

There was no way Ovechkin could possibly know. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I'm honeymooning in this fandom under anonymous, but I really appreciate the feedback :)


	4. Chapter 4

The next time it happened - over two months later, losing in overtime to the Bruins - Sidney wasn’t surprised to find Geno missing from the locker room after the game.

He checked his cell, found Geno’s message.

_Bad_

Sidney text him back like they’d agreed - _Ok_ \- and went to go shower.He stood under the hot water and tried not to think of Geno hiding out somewhere, alone in unfamiliar territory, seething into himself with hurt and anger.Tried not to feel bitter about the situation: Geno with one goal and two assists that night, Sidney with goose eggs. 

He found it strange Geno only got like this on nights he played _well_.For Sidney, the very worse games were the losses involving his own subpar performance.Those were the games that left him angry.

He showered quickly.Got back into his suit.Then sat on the bench with his cell out, browsing the most recent stats, waiting for the rest of the team to finish up, to file out to the bus.Horny and Kessel were both watching him - Phil trying to be subtle about it, his own cell out as he sat on the bench, bag at his feet, dressed and ready to leave.Horny was just flat-out staring.

Sidney waved Flower on when the goalie cocked an eyebrow at Geno’s stall, looking at him meaningfully, like he wanted to talk about it.Flower left without pushing it, and the rest of the guys followed soon after, not wanting to linger, keen to get off the Bruins’ home turf. 

When the locker room was empty but for Horny and Kessel, Sidney stood up, stretching out the muscles in his back.He hoisted his bag onto his shoulder.

Horny looked ready to say something, his mouth a mutinous line.

“Come on,” Sidney said, before the Swede could call him an idiot for something he wasn’t going to do - he wasn’t going to go fetch Geno, wasn’t even going to look in on him, however much Sidney might want to.He nodded his head towards the door.“Geno’s getting a taxi back to the hotel.”

Phil got to his feet too.“So it’s fixed?” he asked, uncertainly.

Sidney sighed.He had agreed to Geno’s plan but it didn’t make him feel any less of a shitty captain - leaving a man behind, abandoning Geno when he was at his lowest.

“It’s being managed,” he said.

“He should see a shrink,” Horny interjected.

“You tell him that,” Sidney said, tired and a little snappish.And then - because that was unfair, he was captain after all, and he didn’t actually think Horny confronting Geno about it was a good idea - “Leave it, eh?If he’s happy to do this on his own then let him try.”

Because Geno hulking out during play wasn’t a new thing - and neither was his being bad-tempered and sore when the Pens lost despite his efforts.The media waxed poetic about _beast-mode_ , talking of Geno’s competitive nature, his drive to prove himself, to show the world the Pens had two top front lines.And it had never harmed Geno before, as far as Sidney knew - Geno taking his psych eval every year like the rest of the team, passing with flying colours.So as long as he could manage it without lashing out at the team, Sidney thought things were probably okay. 

The man’s anger could set the Penguins’ game on fire.And maybe it was selfish, but Sidney didn’t want to risk losing that.

“Can we go now, please?” he asked, knowing the others would probably already yell at them for holding up the bus.

He text Geno as they left the locker rooms.

_Everyones out_

 

 

Sidney was sat on his bed in the hotel later, watching footage from the game and trying not to think of Geno.Which was difficult, quite honestly, when he was also watching the man score on the screen. 

They hadn’t discussed any follow up communication when he and Geno had agreed _the plan_ , and that was an error, Sidney knew now, because he was fretting.He had to resist the urge to get up, to put on a pair of sneakers, to walk down the hotel corridor and knock on Geno’s door.To make sure he was there, that he had got back to the hotel safely, hadn’t got into a fight with a Boston taxi driver.

Sidney text him instead: _You back G?_

He didn’t have to wait long for a response.

_Yes_

Then another: _I’m ok_

Sidney didn’t really believe him.  Wondered if he should ask to go over, whether it would be good for Geno to have some company. 

He was typing out a response when Geno text him again.

_See you at breakfast_

Sidney stared at the text for a long moment.Then he sighed, deleted what he had already typed.Sent _Goodnight_ instead. 

He wasn’t going to push it.

 

 

Geno sat down next to him the next morning at breakfast.Nudged Sidney with his elbow in greeting, unshaven and bleary-eyed from sleep still.He was never one for much conversation at this time of day and Sidney said nothing, just poured coffee into his cup, Geno murmuring his thanks to him softly in Russian.

Sidney continued to skim the sports pages of the complimentary newspaper he had been handed, watching Geno shovel down oatmeal and a plate of eggs from the corner of his eye.

“Klein’s saying you need to stop taking stupid penalties,” he said blandly, when Geno was onto his second cup of coffee.“I agree.”

“If you score some goals next time, this I do, promise,” Geno said, with a shrug, munching through a mouthful.

Sidney snorted.Kicked Geno’s ankle under the table.He couldn’t keep a small smile off his face as he turned back to the newspaper and the rest of the article, not even Klein’s vitriol at the Pens enough to spoil his good mood.  Because the tension between him and Geno had finally dissipated and Sidney hadn’t realised he’d been holding his breath for two months, waiting for them to fail.


End file.
